


Goodbye

by RiaZendira



Category: White Collar
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Gen, Grief/Mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-08
Updated: 2011-12-08
Packaged: 2017-10-27 02:39:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/290764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiaZendira/pseuds/RiaZendira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spoilers for the end of Season 1</p>
            </blockquote>





	Goodbye

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elrhiarhodan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elrhiarhodan/gifts).



It's the first time in the weeks since the explosion that Peter's even seen Neal willingly go outside. Peter had walked upstairs to the guest room to try and convince Neal to come down for lunch and found it startlingly empty. One frantic and hurried search later had found the back door open.

Peering around the open door, Peter had been struck dumb by the sight. Neal, on his knees, wearing nothing but a worn pair of loose yoga pants, in a pool of sunlight. The small shaft of light had fought it's way through the trees surrounding the small back yard patio to illuminate its unexpected subject. Neal's arms hung loosely, his hands resting one on each knee. After so many weeks of seeing Neal's pain, Peter expected to see his hand hanging down, chin touching his chest. But no, Neal's head was thrown back, his throat bared to the sky, his eyes closed, deep breaths escaping from his lips as if he'd run a mile before collapsing here.

Peter completed his soundless slow slide through the open doorway and took a step sideways to lean against the house, tucking his hands in his pockets, prepared to wait and watch all day if his friend needed him to. Neal's breathing became slow and forced as his eye lids fluttered and his back tensed. Peter watch calmly as Neal's arms became high tension wires and his hands formed fists, knuckles white.

"Goddammit!" Neal's voice was sharp, but not nearly as loud as Peter might have expected it to be. "I can't keep being this, doing this... it hurts too much."

A million replies popped into Peter's head, from the way too light hearted "What? Sitting outside? We do have sunscreen you know," to the impossibly serious "I know buddy, oh god do I know." There really wasn't any right thing he could say. Nothing could fix something like this, and no one could decide to move on for Neal but Neal.

This strange other worldly sight of Neal collapsed in perfect light, smack in the center of the patio, in a pose of indescribable grief, just wasn't a situation that Peter had an solution to. It was movie like, performance like, cue the spotlight, our hero has reached his pinnacle of plight. It was so perfectly Neal though. The man was a performer to the core, he couldn't even do genuine grief without making it resonate beautifully with his small audience.

Looking down at the concrete, Peter pulled his hands from his pockets and shuffled forward until he reached Neal's side. Sinking to a crouch, he tucked his feet under and sat down. Slowly, so that Neal could avoid it or look scornfully at him if he wanted to, Peter reached out a hand and rested it on Neal's opposite shoulder, pulling him sideways so that his head came to rest on Peter's shoulder. With that small movement, Peter saw the instant Neal finally broke. He'd been waiting for this, knowing it had to come sometime, anticipating it like he was on the bomb squad and Neal had been ticking this whole time.

All the tension disappeared from Neal's body, his arms clenched around himself, one hand resting against Peter's thigh. Peter lifted his hand to rest on Neal's head, stroking his hair. He was fairly certain Neal was finally crying, but he wasn't about to look down to make sure. The irregular breaths and slight shaking of his body were enough to know some sort of purge of grief was happening.

They sat there, illuminated in the afternoon sun, two bodies fallen together, Peter slowly running his hand over Neal's head, Neal finally letting go of some of his pain, saying nothing. Their tiny patch of sunlight crept away from them inch by inch as the only indicator of the time passing. Peter didn't know what else to do... but he knew eventually El was due home, and he was certain she would have their next move all ready for them. He had no idea what he would do without that faith. God, what would he do without El? He hugged Neal closer, resting his head on top of Neal's, and waited for El to come find them.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted at: http://riazendira.dreamwidth.org/22377.html where more author's notes are available.


End file.
